


Our Bodies, Possessed By Light

by IamHobbes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Mild Angst, have some poem time, it's siken cause i'm a basic bitch, mild homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25262176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamHobbes/pseuds/IamHobbes
Summary: The choice to live together is also a poem.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Our Bodies, Possessed By Light

**Author's Note:**

> so when i learned the HQ was ending i rewatched everything and caught up to the manga. so i'm dead right now. from love. for all my boys. anyway, the poem mentioned here is Scheherezade by Richard Siken from his collection Crush. hope u like it!

Early winter in Tokyo, when the sun is hard to come by, is difficult to spend alone. The snowfall nears heavy and the ground is all white, as if waiting– a wet sort of welcome to the land of yearning for a new season. The trees can’t shake off the weight of the world, even as the wind runs past them like a hand combing through long black hair. It’s enough to make anyone melancholic, even for a minute or two.

“G’morning, Akaashi!”

Well, almost anyone.

“Morning.” Akaashi raised his mug of coffee to his lips, savoring the warmth. He and Bokuto had been living together for approximately a month now.

“Mmm, smells good! Is that for me?” Bokuto pointed at the plate of eggs and rice in front of him. Wearing an oversized hoodie and pajama pants, he sat down and grabbed a pair of chopsticks before Akaashi could answer.

“Yeah,” he said, picking up a thin book from the pile beside him. “All yours.”

It had taken the better part of a year to pry himself out of his family’s clutches and live his own life, but Akaashi had found a good apartment for himself, nonetheless. The catch, though, was that it was a bit over what he could afford, given the job he had now, working as an editor at a magazine’s manga department.

With the practice and the obvious fame that came along with being a volleyball superstar, Akaashi had thought it would be a long shot for Bokuto to agree to splitting the rent of some small, shared-bedroom place in Tokyo. The man was well on his way to becoming an Olympian. He needed space to move; to grow. Plus, living together was a big ask of someone, regardless of the relationship.

“This tastes great!”

“You say that every meal.”

Still, Akaashi had asked. And Bokuto accepted.

“What’cha reading, then?” Bokuto said, barely making sense with a mouthful of eggs. He raised an eyebrow as Akaashi stayed quiet, flipping through the pages of the book in his hands. 

“S’nothing.”

“Is it for your magazine?”

“Ah, no. It’s poetry.”

“Poetry? Woah!” Bokuto waved his chopsticks around, getting grains of rice stuck in his hair. He scratched his chin in brief thought. “I had such a hard time understanding poems in high school.”

“I know.”

“Oh, well. Good thing you were there to help me review!” Bokuto laughed loudly while wiping his mouth. Akaashi gave a small smile and looked down again at the words on the pages, scanning through them. Bokuto finished his breakfast and stood up, taking his utensils to the sink. As he cleaned up and Akaashi read, the morning felt a little less cold.

“Who wrote it?” Bokuto asked suddenly, arms folded and looking through the kitchen window that had fogged up. “The book, I mean.”

“Hm? Oh, he’s an American.” Bokuto showing genuine interest in what he was doing wasn’t new– he was forever earnest– but when they were in high school, Bokuto was prone to such distraction that when he asked questions, he hardly stuck around for the answers. Not that it bothered him before, but Akaashi was still getting used to having his former ace’s full and undivided attention, now that it was just the two of them together. “Siken is his name.”

“English?” Bokuto whipped around, eyes wide as the plate he had just washed. “Wow, that’s tough. You must like this guy’s work.”

“I do.”

“Okay, so, read me one.”

“Sorry?” Akaashi blinked. He must have misheard.

“I mean read me one of his poems!” Bokuto pouted, leaning a hip on the edge of the sink. “Pretty please, Keiji?”

“Seriously?” How many times did he and his teammates have to force Bokuto to go over the Ogura Hyakunin Isshu so he wouldn’t fail literature and get to play in tournaments? There’s such a thing as showing polite interest, sure, but even more literature-inclined people than Bokuto have turned Akaashi down on poetry readings. It’s just isn’t everyone’s kind of thing. “Koutarou, are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah!” Bokuto pulled up a chair and sat next to him, legs crossed on the seat. He radiated heat. “I just want to know what you’re up to!”

Akaashi blinked again. The thought was nice, but still. _Will he even understand?_ he wondered, his nimble fingers turning the pages back to the start.

“Alright.” Bokuto gazed at him intently. Akaashi exhaled. “ _Scheherazade_.”

_Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again._

**(** “That was a good game. You played well.”

“I know, right?” Bokuto beamed as they walked out of the stadium. Akaashi smiled as Bokuto made a fist in triumph. He was blinding. “I was in the zone for almost the whole time!”

The two of them trudged the streets on the way to the train station where they would soon part ways. Despite his energetic step, Bokuto walked a slow pace. Each moment was a savored one.

“Listen…” Akaashi mumbled. “I was thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“I know this is might sound out of the blue. And it might be asking too much.”

“What’s up?”

Akaashi sighed. He raised a hand to the nape of his neck. “You know about… my mom, right?”

Bokuto stopped and put a hand on Akaashi’s shoulder, making a more than sour face. “Yeah? Did something happen?”

“No, it’s just…” Akaashi looked out into the distance, where he couldn’t turn back. “I’m moving out.”

“Really!” Bokuto yelled happily, causing a few passers-by to turn their heads. Akaashi grabbed his arm and apologized on his behalf, shooting him a reproachful glare.

Once everything calmed down and they started walking again, Akaashi bit his lip before speaking.

“Do you want to move in with me?” **)**

_How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running until they forget that they are horses.  
It’s not like a dream where the roots have to end somewhere._

**(** “Akaashi?”

It was the middle of the night. They weren’t able to unpack all of their belongings and decided to do it next morning. Their futons lay next to each other in the middle of cardboard boxes and suitcases.

Akaashi swore he hadn’t made a sound, but his eyes were rimmed with red. _This was it._ They were here _._

Bokuto turned over, sleepily unaware of anything else besides the body next to him; the smell of Akaashi’s hair, the way Akaashi breathed. Bokuto’s head found its way into the crook of Akaashi’s neck, his arm making its way around his torso. He pulled him in close, muscles almost tight, and tangled their legs together.

They stayed that way until sunlight seeped in, neither of them willing to wake up first. **)**

_It’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio.  
How we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and they days were bright red, and every time we kissed, there was another apple to slice into pieces._

**(** “Mother, you know Koutarou,” Akaashi began, putting a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder.

Her voice came out hard as steel. “Yes.”

Akaashi flinched. “We’ve decided. We’ve moved in together.”

“So you have.” She eyed the two of them up and down, irritated. “Can you afford that?”

“More than!” Bokuto said before Akaashi could reply. Bokuto grinned, probably thinking this would convince Akaashi’s mother. “I make tons from volleyball sponsorships and–“

“That’s not what I meant.”

Akaashi looked away, knowing Bokuto’s face had fallen without even seeing it. His heart dropped to his stomach as his mother continued. “Why can’t you just find a nice girl, Keiji?”

As he began to open his mouth to retort in rage, he felt Bokuto’s hand slip into his. He meant to explode. **)**

_Look at the light through the windowpane.  
That means it’s noon. That means we’re inconsolable._

**(** “And what if she’s right?” Akaashi said sharply, turning to face Bokuto. The frown on his face said it all. “Those reporters clearly saw us. They could be writing about you right now.”

“So what?” Bokuto answered, indignant, hands on his hips. “I don’t care.”

“You should.”

“What? Why?”

“You’ve met my mother. Not everyone is going to like… this.” Akaashi tried to find the words. He spread out his arms. “Us, I mean.”

Bokuto tilted his head. “And that… bothers you?”

Akaashi struggled to talk. “It… it could hold us back. From our careers. It could hold _you_ back, most of all.”

“I don’t care about all that.”

Akaashi closed his eyes. _Why did I have to be so careless?_ “None of this would have happened if I hadn’t kissed you out in the open. I’m sorry, Koutarou.”

There was a thud. Bokuto had slammed a hand on the table. “Don’t apologize,” He said, his voice wavering, eyebrows knit together. Then, softer: “Please.” **)**

_Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us._

**(** “I can’t be without you.”

“…”

“Akaashi?”

I know.” **)**

_These, our bodies, possessed by light._

“Wow, I don’t get everything, but it feels like… It feels like I do. You know?” Bokuto said, having hung onto every single word. He put his legs down from the chair. “It’s kinda sad, though, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Akaashi said, closing the book. “But that’s what I love most about good poetry. You don’t need to say anything outright. You only know what to feel.”

“Oh, I get that,” Bokuto smiled, clapping his hands. More so than others, Akaashi knew. He gave a small laugh. Bokuto began to laugh too. Quickly, he brought a hand to the other’s cheek and stroked it with his thumb. “It’s beautiful, Akaashi!”

Akaashi smiled and leaned in, bringing their lips together. He savored the warmth.

_Tell me we’ll never get used to it._  
  



End file.
